


summer nights and comet skies

by shipwreckinabottle



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Smut, like... duh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 13:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16476512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwreckinabottle/pseuds/shipwreckinabottle
Summary: A collection of prompts / drabbles / unconnected pwp one-shots.





	summer nights and comet skies

**Author's Note:**

> i need some help making the tags more in-depth y'all lmao 
> 
> if you'd like more, prompt me @ shipwreckinabottle on tumblr.
> 
> i promise i'll make a prompt list when i'm less lazy, until then, prompt me with kinks + a random sentence you can find googling for "smut prompt lists?"

The evening’s gloom faltered against the coming of night.

Mon-El sat in the ebbing twilight, barely acknowledging Kara's slow approach.

She took him in her hands, fingers meeting the curve of his face. It pained her to see him in such a state; eyes heavy with exhaustion, body battered and bloody after another night of crime-fighting.

Like her, the sun gave him strength, but unlike her, his body neither healed as quickly, nor was as invulnerable against lead. And on Earth, bullets were made of lead.

There was a pile of bandages next to his bed, and she knew he must have thrown them aside in frustration. Wordlessly, she picked up the bandages and climbed onto the bed behind him, careful not to disturb the cushions’ rest.

She guided him, facing him away from the bed so that she could have better access to his back. He was already shirtless from before, and she started cleaning his wounds with a fresh towel.

Afterwards, she squeezed a good amount of ointment onto her hands, rubbing it into her palms and pressing them against his wounds. He shivered beneath her touch, from pain or from the ointment’s icy glide, she did not know. Perhaps both.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered, hands trailing cautiously down his side, coating his ribs with a sleek layer.

“It’s bearable,” he answered dryly.

She was more careful around the deeper cuts, her fingers slowly painting his wounds pink with oil. There was a newer graze by his upper chest, and as she leaned forward to better inspect the cut, she had to fight every growing impulse inside her to press her lips against his collarbone, to feel him, to taste him.

The room remained in lonely silence as she worked the oil, spreading her palms across his body, rolling and smoothing the taunt muscles underneath. Before long, she was done. She allowed the oil a minute to dry, then the bandages followed through, carefully circling his chest, tight enough to secure, but not enough for discomfort.

Testing the bandage’s firmness, she shifted in front of him to admire her handiwork. She slid onto his lap, and the action parted the sleeves of her robes. He did not say a single word, but she noticed his eyes, and a brief flicker before settling ahead, stoic, as if he’d never noticed.

She smiled—she had his attention now.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she dipped downwards, teeth grazing across the tip of his ear, down towards the soft of his neck. Her robes slipped further down, and her breasts pushed into his chest, begging to be taken.

She wanted to tempt him, to drive him insane. But it felt like her actions had the opposite effect, pushing her instead towards the point of insanity. Her body bristled with arousal and impatience, and she knew he could feel how much she wanted him, from the gradual grind of her hips against his thighs, to the warmness between her legs.

He swallowed, and she whimpered into his neck, wanting more—but he remained quiet, not granting her what she needed. Her lips pursed together in frustration, and her hands slipped between their bodies, gliding past his sleeked chest and down between his legs.

Mon-El could act as uninterested and as impassive as he was, but there was a part of him always well beyond his own control. Her fingers skimmed across his briefs, and she could feel his cock straining against the tight fabric.

His silent arousal pleased her. She leaned closer, nails dragging across his abdomen, teasing between his waistband and his hips, close enough, but never quite touching him.

Her lips pressed into the base of his neck, kissing towards his jaw as her hands clawed into his thighs.    

His breathing grew uneven, and a soft grunt came from his throat, so quietly she almost thought it was the creak of the bed. Her plans did not backfire, but progress was slow, and she knew that seeing him in such a state only drove her ever quicker into her own undoing.

It was only a matter of time before she’d succumb entirely.

So, she wasted no time lifting the waistband and reaching inwards for her prize. Her hands, still sleek with ointment, grabbed onto the length of his waiting member, sliding him between her thumb and her index, moving in slow, torturous circles, tracing small patterns across the sensitive underside before cupping together at its head.

She started slow, but her continued rhythm increased, and her other hand tipped his chin up to claim his lips against hers. Soon, he was no longer holding back, his throat groans reverberating into her mouth as her pace quickened, and before long, she could no longer tell if the slickness around her fingers came from only the oil, or traces of his own desire too.

She coaxed him closer and closer towards the edge. But before he could reach the point of no return, she stopped, her fingers coming to a complete halt.

His eyes shot open, and she greeted them with a playful grin.

“It’s late, and we have work tomorrow, we should go to bed,” she smirked, acting uninterested all of a sudden. But there was no denying how shaky her legs were as she got up from his lap, nor the damp little patch she’d left on his thighs.  

She barely managed a step from him when he grabbed onto her wrist and pulled her back down onto him. Before she could say another word, their bodies shifted, and she found herself pinned against the bed beneath him, at his complete and utter mercy.

“It’s… Friday, there’s no damn work tomorrow,” he hissed, and she started laughing at the absurdity of it all, until he silenced her with his lips. He kissed her long and hard, like he was a starving man and she was the only thing that could sate his hunger.

His fingers dug into her breasts, and oil was transferred across skin as their bodies glided against the other. When he broke the kiss, she tried pulling him back, only to realize that in the span of their short kiss, he’d somehow managed to tie her wrists to the bedframe with the spare rolls of bandages around them.

“Okay…” she said between heavy breaths. “That’s actually pretty impressive, I…”

Before she could finish her sentence, his hand dipped below, and quickly eviscerated whatever thought process she had going on. His fingers moved with zero urgency, parting her folds, trailing a finger up through the center. His index finger found her swollen clit, a slow, torturous drive, much like she’d done to him previously.

She tried to arch herself up into him, to feel more of him, but with each thrust of her hips, he retreated, purposely ignoring her body’s frustrated writhing.

“Now you know how that feels, huh?” the heat of his words flushed across her ears.

“Please, I—”

His fingers pushed inside of her, and there was no reservation in the noises that she made. Her head rolled, and her hips pressed into his hands. His fingers rotated, leaving, then returning, alternating their attention between every part of her that demanded him.

Then they moved quicker, and quicker, and at the back of her mind, she was suddenly reminded of the way she’d denied him previously, but the thoughts of it were quickly replaced by her growing pleasures, but right before her very own inevitability, he stopped, and her worst fears came into fruition.

“It’s pretty late, isn’t it?” there was no missing the smirk splayed across his face.

She was practically seething. "It's _FUCKING_ Friday!"

“Glad you know,” he laughed, and rough hands pulled her legs apart.

Then he was inside her, full, firm, and hot, her hands balling into the cushion as his hips started to move against hers, thrusting her into new deliriums of pleasure. It was too much and at the same time not enough.

One hand broke free of the bandages and grabbed onto the back of his head, pulling his lips down onto hers as their bodies rocked faster against the other. She grew more desperate with each thrust, wanting nothing more than to release the urgent knot inside her.

Then his lips left hers, and his voice warm against the side of her ear. “Cum.”

And she did, her chest thrusting forward as she descended into bliss, unable to hold on any further at his very command. She convulsed around him, her body shaking as she felt his release at the very same time, his groans ringing into her ears like sweet melody as he fell forward onto her, the contact of their skin coursing like electricity.

No one spoke for the longest time. Then, looking at the oil covered bed and the dozens of bandages rolling across the floor like toilet paper, she began to laugh, and he joined in soon after.   

**Author's Note:**

> ITS FUCKING FRIDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> (actually its not (at this time of posting anyways))


End file.
